I need you, John Hamish Watson!
by Sofia777
Summary: I've read many stories about how John falls apart without Sherlock. But what if he doesn't? What if he moves on with his life? John is happy when Sherlock returns and expects him to pick up where they left off. John refuses. But Sherlock, being Sherlock, does not take no for an answer….
1. Chapter 1

I own nothing and I make no profit whatsoever.

**I need you, John Hamish Watson.**

**Chapter 1.**

John's POV

'_Come along John!' Sherlock was running fast ahead of me. 'Wait for me!' I yell._

'_Hurry up we're losing him!' Sherlock's voice sounds right next to me but I see him disappearing in the street which seems to stretch endlessly in front of me._

'_Sherlock, where are you?' I yell again. I can't catch my breath and my body is aching from the run. _

_Suddenly, the street disappears around me and I was standing in front of St. Bart's Hospital._

'_John, look up.' A calm voice says in my ear. I look at the roof where I see my friend lean forward and fall. His arms and legs kicking like he is looking for something to grab._

'_Sherlock! NO! SHERLOCK!'_

I jolt awake. My heart is racing. I stare into the total darkness of my room. It takes me a few seconds to realize I was sitting upright in my bed. In my house. It was just a dream. Just a dream. I try to take deep breathes to calm myself down.

'Are you alright, honey?' A sleepy voice comes from next to me in the bed.

'Yes of course, dear.' I whisper. 'Go back to sleep.'

I lean back into the pillows. So strange. I hadn't had a dream about my old friend Sherlock Holmes in ages. How along ago did he die? More than two years now. Of course I had many of these dreams the first months after his suicide. Almost every night I woke up yelling his name, thinking for one second that maybe his dead really was only a bad dream… But of course then the inevitable realization crashed down on me without mercy and I had to except all over again that my best friend had really killed himself. Every night I cried. For three months I lost myself in grief.

And then the anger came. There had been anger right after his death, during the funeral, but this was a different anger. I looked back at our time together and realized he had been a terrible friend. He had lied to me. He had used me as doormat. He had not appreciated everything I did for him. He had not respect my privacy at all. He interfered with any attempts I made at having a normal life. And he had not nearly loved me as much as I loved him…. At the time, my anger seemed justified and it helped me to tell myself my life was better without him. I cut everyone and everything Sherlock-related out of my life. I stopped blogging. I moved out of Baker Street. I changed my job. And I never spoke to Lestrade, Molly, Mycroft or even Mrs. Hudson again.

And then I met Marry. Dear, sweet, wonderful Marry.

Somehow, she fell in love me. In the first months of our relationship I told her about Sherlock. The talking helped me so much. Telling her everything reminded me of all the good times he and I had. Slowly, the memory of him became a good one again. I even visited Mrs. Hudson and passed by the Yard. Even if it was only once, it made me feel better. I had given the whole history a place. Life was good again.

I proposed to Marry and she said yes. We got married five months ago. It was a great day and yet, I missed him more that day than any time before since I met my wife. I wanted my best friend to be there. The morning of our wedding I cried. Marry understood. She always understands. I don't think I have ever met a more caring, loving, devoted woman in my life. Every one of my friends told me I was a fool if I did not marry her. So I did. Of course I love her. I love her so much. But somehow there has been this nagging feeling…. Like she is more a good friend than a woman I passionately love and desire…. But I have ignored that feeling and so far it worked out very well. She is happy. I am happy. Life is good.

I haven't thought about Sherlock for months. Why this dream? Why now?

The next morning I arrive at the hospital earlier than usual. I wasn't able to get back to sleep so I got up early and went for a run to clear my head. In the park, I had seen Sherlock again. Of course I had. It came with the dreams. I had seen Sherlock everywhere the first months after his death. Once I was almost hit by a car because I stood still in the middle of the road being sure I saw my friend on the other side of the street. A total stranger saved my life by pulling me out of the way. I hardly thanked him in my urge to cross the street and see if it was really Sherlock. It wasn't of course. Stupid me.

'Good morning doctor Watson.'

'Hi Jeannie, how are things this morning?'

The nurse behind the reception desk smiles at me. 'Thinks are good, doctor. Busy though.'

'What else is new?' I grin at her and take the charts of my first patients.

The day was indeed busy. I started at 8 and at 5.30 I was getting ready to leave when one of the nurses comes into the room where I had just seen my last patient.

'Doctor Watson, are you leaving?' She asks.

'Yes Susan.' I respond. 'It has been a long day and I am really tired.'

She looks worried. 'Doctor, can you please see one more patient? He is insisting to see you.'

I sigh. 'Why Susan? Can't one of my colleagues see him?'

'He claims you were his doctor before.'

'Fine.' I give in. 'Send him in while I clean up here.'

'Thank you John.' Susan disappears and I turn my back to the door to throw away my old gloves and get new ones. I hear the door opening.

'Just one second please.' I say without turning around.

'I am in no hurry.' A deep voice says…. A familiar voice….! I know that voice!

I turn around and there, in the room… ten feet away from me… stands Sherlock!

I can't breathe. I can't think. I want to say something but my voice seems to have abandoned me. My legs feel shaky and I want to grab the table next to me to hold myself up…

Then everything turns black.

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	2. Chapter 2

Roses are red, violets are blue, I don't own Sherlock; the BBC and ACD do!

Roses are red, Jennifer Wilson is pink, please read my story and let me know what you think!

Roses are red, Anderson is thick, if you can do it better, write your own fanfic ;)

**Chapter 2.**

A strong smell tickles my nose and brings me back from the darkness. What happened? How did I get here on the floor?

'Ah good, you are awake.'

I almost faint again as I look up to my …. What is he? Friend? Illusion? Dead man walking?

'Sh-Sherlock?' I hear my voice shake.

'Yes, John.'

'But…. You're alive?'

An annoyed sigh while two strong hands pull me off the floor. 'Please stop stating the obvious, John. You know how I despise it.'

I am still shaking. This can't be true….

'John?'

I must be hallucinating. I did work too much lately….

'John?'

I should close my eyes for a bit to make this delusion disappear.

'JOHN! Open your eyes! Would you stop behaving like an idiot and pay attention!'

My friend (or my hallucination, I am still not sure) puts his hands on my shoulders and shakes me rather violently.

I stare at him. Dazzled. I feel how I slowly sink to sit on the edge of the examination table.

'Sherlock…' I whisper. 'How did you do this? How could you possibly be here?'

'John, must we do this now? There is not much time!' His voice sounds harsh and agitated. Of course. That is how I remember it. What is he saying, though? I don't pay attention to it. Too many questions are going through my mind. My head is spinning.

'How, Sherlock? I saw you fall! I watched your crushed face on the pavement! I felt your pulse! There was no heartbeat Sherlock! How?'

Another agitated sigh. 'We can talk later, John. For now, I need your assistance. Come with me!' He walks towards the door. I don't move from the table.

'No.' I hear myself say it. What am I doing?

'Hmm?' Sherlock has already opened the door. He does not look up.

'No.' I say again. 'I am not going anywhere with you until you tell me what is going on here.'

'What?' His squints at me, though still clearly in a hurry to leave.

'You heard me, Sherlock.'

Another annoyed sigh. This is getting old. Already.

'John, we will have time for that later. Right now I need your assistance with a more important matter.' He says it without even looking at me. In his usual annoyed tone, like we saw each other yesterday and I am asking him about the weather. It is infuriating.

'You led me believe you were _dead_, you bastard.' I want to yell but since we are only separated from a hospital full of patients by very thin walls I hiss instead and I hear my voice shriek.

Sherlock looks at me now. Finally. His eyes filled with anger. Wait, why is _he _angry?

'We. Will. Talk. Later. John.' He says while keeping his teeth clamed together. 'Now come.'

'No!'

'Why the hell not!'

We are yelling now. Forget the patients!

'Because I saw you die, Sherlock! I watched you die and now you are here. You suddenly decided to drop bye "Hi, I am alive. Come with me to do something dangerous!" Without any explanation.'

'That was never a problem before!'

'This is not like before Sherlock! Life like _before _does not exist anymore!' I get up from the table and yell at him while I wave my arms around as if I am trying to show him where he is: in my life. My new life. After his death. 'I am _married _now! Even with you back you are no longer the most important person in my life! I will no longer drop everything to run mindlessly after you without you giving me any explanations!'

He stares at me. Blank. As usual I cannot tell what he is thinking but I can see he is angry.

I don't care. Suddenly the anger is rushing back over me. It is like I went back in time. I just want to yell at him. So I do…

'You burst in here like nothing happened! Not even a "Hi John, I'm sorry I faked my suicide. How have you been?" Noho! It is all about _you_! You! You! You! Like always. I understand it is not a shock for _you_ to see _me, _but maybe you can manage to grasp of what this is like for _me_ to see you, you emotionless git!'

He doesn't respond. We stare at each other. I cannot tell who is more angry. Then he steps towards me.

'Can you control your childish whims for just a few hours?'

I take a deep breath.

'Stop insulting me, Sherlock. Either you tell me exactly what happened or I am not going anywhere.'

'That is a ridiculous waste of time.'

'The go. Don't let me keep you from whatever important business you have to attend to.' I comment sarcastically.

'I won't go without you.' Sherlock states.

'Why the hell not?' I yell. 'Tell me Sherlock? Why should I go with you?'

'Because I need you, John Watson!'

Without thinking I scream back: 'Well I don't need you Sherlock Holmes.'

He says nothing. His empty expression doesn't change as he turns and walks out of the room.

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	3. Chapter 3

Thank you all for reading! I am so sorry I didn't update this story before :) Hopefully I have time to write more soon!

Enjoy and let me know what you think!

As usual: I don't own anything and I don't make any profit!

**Chapter 3.**

I left the hospital. I am still so angry that I decided to walk home and lose some energy. That bastard! How dare he come back like this! Demanding I follow him everywhere and without any explanation!

I am walking through the park now. My hands are fists in my pockets. I am walking fast as I think about all the things I still want to say to Sherlock. Or more likely yell at him.

Unbelievable! Wait till I tell Marty about this. How will she respond when I tell her Sherlock is alive?

Alive…

My best friend came back from the dead today… Sherlock Holmes is alive….

It is like that knowledge is suddenly kicking in like a punch in the stomach.

Within a second I am overtaken by emotion and my legs are shaking underneath me. I sit down on a park bench and breathe in my hands to calm myself down.

'Are you okay?'

A look up and see a young women sitting next to me. She looks at me with a worried smile while rocking a baby in her arms.

'Yes.' I mumble. 'I am fine. I'm sorry to just sit down here like that. I didn't see you.'

'No problem.' She has a very friendly voice. Calm and southing. 'Are you sure you are fine because you look a bit pale….'

I smile apologetically. 'No, actually I am not fine. My best friend….' How should I say this? What actually happened? I take a deep breath.

'My best friend came to see me today. For years I thought he was dead. He _was _dead. I saw him die…. But apparently I was wrong. He is alive and me came to see me…'

She stares at me. She must think I am insane. But then an amazed and wide smile slides over her face. 'That is wonderful. Shocking, of course! But also wonderful. You must be very happy.'

I open my mouth to answer, but what would I say? Am I happy that Sherlock is alive? How come I don't know how I feel…?

'Aren't you glad he is alive?' She asks.

'I am not sure….' I start. 'He purposely had me believe he was dead for so long… and I missed him so much! There were so many times I wished he was there… and now I know he could be but he choose not too! He left me.'

She sighs. 'That does sound painful. But did he have a good reason? Maybe he missed you too?'

I look at her. I can't answer those question. 'I didn't ask…' I realize it while I say it.

She seems shocked. 'Why not?'

'I wanted to know what had happened first. I wanted to know how he faked his death. I wanted explanations…' Suddenly I feel a bit stupid….

The women lifts the bay and gently puts it in a stroller next to the bench.

'If I were you I would ask him these things. If he is your friend he might have had his reasons for leaving you like that.'

'I don't know if I want him back in my life….'

She gets up from the bench. 'I think you do.'

'Why?'

'Because you still call him your best friend.'

When I don't answer she smiles at me and walks away behind the stroller.

I stay behind on the bench. Confused. Was i stupid being angry with Sherlock like that? Maybe he is still my friend… my best friend…And where is he going now? He doesn't have anyone else to go to. Maybe he was counting on me to take care of him like I did before?

Oh shit I made a mistake! I have to go find Sherlock!

I get up from the bench. First, I have to go home and tell Mary. I start walking fast in the direction of my house, but as I approach I begin to worry about what to tell Mary… Sherlock is back? Sherlock is alive? He lied to me, to all of us, and he was never dead? That awful grieve, depression and those dark, dark days you helped me through were completely unnecessary because that arrogant, selfish bastard never actually crushed to his death on that pavement?

God, what am I going to tell Mary?

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	4. Chapter 4

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

Enjoy the next chapter!

**Chapter 3.**

Mary is stroking my hair while I have my head rested in her lap. I am thinking out loud about my day. She is hardly making any comments while I tell my story. She listens patiently, comforting me when needed. God, what did I do to deserve this wonderful woman?

When I finish everything we are silent. Mary seems lost in thoughts, and so am I. There is something that has been bothering me since my conversation with the young mother in the park…

'Was I too hasty? Too angry? Maybe I should have gone with him?'

'Darling….' Mary's soft fingers slide over my cheek. 'You were upset and angry and Sherlock showed no understanding or remorse about your situation. At all. I would have been a lot more angry.' She smiles down at me. I cannot imagine her angry at all. At anyone.

She continues: 'And I am angry as well. For you. When I think of everything he put you through and it wasn't necessary. And he missed so much in your life…. Your new job. Our marriage…. Think about it: he could have been at our wedding.'

I nod absentmindedly.

'Still… I feel like…. like I missed out on the only chance I got to know the real story. And also, what if he really needed my help with something dangerous.'

I sit up and breathe into my hands. 'What if he is in danger right now because I turned him down?' I feel a slight panic attack coming up.

Mary takes my hand. 'I don't think that will happen, dear. He will not be alone. He has his brother Mickael, to take care of him.'

'Mycroft.' I correct her.

'Exactly. He will be fine, John. Let it go. You did the right thing. Think about the mess Sherlock left you with? Do you really want to go through that again?'

I stare at the coffee table. Hardly listening to her.

Mycroft… He must have known his brother was alive all this time. He will help Sherlock. I am allowed to be angry and refuse to help him. Mary is right: he showed no understanding for my situation at all. And really, what else did I expect? He had always been selfish, focused only on 'The Work'. People never mattered. I remember that conversation, years ago, during Moriarty's "game"…. Sherlock told me he would continue not to make the mistake of caring about people. He never cared about me… I feel my throat closing.

Damn it.

I will not let Sherlock do this to again. I was a bloody soldier for God's sake. No tears. I have Mary now. She is my rock. My light. She picked up the pieces Sherlock left of me. I cannot let that happen again. She is right: I don't want have that destructive force called Sherlock in my life again.

I turn and kiss her softly on her lips. 'I am sorry, honey. You are right. I will let it go.' We smile at each other. I can tell from the way her eyes light up that she was worried I would run after Sherlock….

Later, while I help my wife make dinner, my thoughts still wonder. I really hope Sherlock is okay. Will he start working as a consulting detective again? I smile to myself because I cannot imagine Sherlock doing anything else. Will he live in Baker Street? In our old house? Maybe he will get another flat mate…. Suddenly I feel like an invisible hand chooks me while I think of Sherlock replacing me….

Damn it.

No. I don't want to go back to that life. He was a horrible flat mate, a horrible friend and he put me through hell without any sign of remorse. I don't want to go back to that life. And I am married, so even if I wanted to get back to that life: I cant.

Damn it.

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	5. Chapter 5

Thank you for all the kind reviews! I am really happy to read your thoughts about the story! And I am sorry for the spelling mistakes some of you noticed! English is not my mother tongue and sometimes I write too much in a hurry!

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**Chapter 5.**

I open my eyes. The bedroom is completely dark and silent.

I look around. Mary is at work. She is a nurse in a private hospital across London. Tonight she has nightshift.

Something woke me up. A sound. But what?

Then I hear it again. A buzz. The sound of my phone. A text.

Still half asleep I grab my phone. Who texts me at – I glance at the alarm clock – 2 a.m?

First message: _Come at once if convenient._

I rub my eyes. This can only come from one person.

Second message: _Baker street. Bring your first aid kit._

I sit up and switch the light on. Then I read both messages again.

Oh bloody hell. Sherlock is injured.

Damn. What do I do now? I just told Mary she was right and I did not need him in my life anymore. And I don't! Besides, he might very well be lying and not be injured at all.

_But then what do you do_? A voice I my head whispers. _Nothing? What if he really is hurt? What if he really needs you to save him and you do nothing?_

I could call someone else, maybe Mycroft? Or text him to go to a hospital!

_You know Sherlock will not go to a hospital and he will not let Mycroft take him there either!_

Maybe I should call Mary…

_She will tell you not to go! But you will never forgive yourself if he dies for real this time…._

I know I can't not go so I take my phone and text: _Coming. Stay there._ Then I jump out of bed and put on my jeans. I pull my jumper over my head and grab my bag with my medical supplies.

Shoes. Where are my shoes? I frantically look around. They must be in the living room.

I run barefoot around the house till I find my shoes and put them on without bothering to get socks. I hope there are taxis at this hour.

Twenty minutes later I am standing in front of 221b Baker Street. I haven't been here in years. The house is completely dark. Even from the second floor, where Sherlock must be, I see no light. I want to turn around and leave. I don't want to see him. I don't want to talk to him. But I have to because he is injured. I take a deep breath and very softly knock the front door. The last thing I want to do is wake Mrs. Hudson. But the door is unlocked and opens slightly after my knock. I push it further and step inside.

I tell myself that if Sherlock is not seriously injured I will turn around and leave immediately! But then I notice something red on the railing of the staircase. I feel like my heart stops and I can't breathe. It is blood. Someone put a bloody hand on that railing no more than minutes ago. I force myself to breath and run up the stairs as quietly as I can.

When I arrive at the door of our old apartment I hesitate. Should I knock? But then a familiar voice comes from the other side of the door: 'Just come in John.' And I do.

The first thing I notice is that it is really dark in the room. I can hardly see Sherlock on the couch. He is half sitting, half laying down in the pillows. His hand pressed against his side. I step towards him and despite the darkness I can see that his face is even paler than usual.

'Sherlock? What…?'

But then he removes his hand and I see where the blood came from. I cannot see a wound but the amount of blood on his hand and on his clothes tells me this is serious wound.

'Jesus!' I gasp while kneeling by the couch. 'What happened?'

Sherlock doesn't look at me. He is shaking slightly and talking seems to be difficult for him. 'I underestimated the situation.' He clamps his teeth together when I carefully pull his shirt off the wound. It looks like a cut. 'Sherlock, you need to go to a hospital.'

He shakes his head. 'No.' He wants to say more but he has to gasp for air first.

'Just stiches.'

'That won't be enough.' I try to clean the wound and the area around it so I can see the extent of the injury. 'If the cut is deep there might be internal damage I cannot see.'

'John.' He grabs my wrist. I look up at him. His eyes are wide with pain. 'I cannot go to a hospital. I am dead, remember.'

I want to tell him that doesn't matter, but he continues: 'And there are people who will certainly kill me when they find out I am alive. That is… if I am lucky.'

His grip around my wrist tightens and we look at each other. 'You have to help me, John.' He pleads. 'Just you. No hospitals. It will kill me.'

'You mean for real this time?' I whisper without thinking. His expression does not change. He does not look away. There is no embarrassment in those cold grey eyes.

I break our stare and look at the wound again. It does not seem that deep. I could try to fix it with stiches if that's what Sherlock wants. Why should I care? Clearly he only asked me to come because he needed a doctor.

I exhale. 'Fine. Lay down! ' I say to him while getting up. 'I will get some water and more bandages. You better get something to bite down on because this is going to hurt.'

An hour later I have stitched up the wound. It really did not look that deep. While cleaning the area carefully I glance at Sherlock. His eyes are closed but he is not sleeping. His face is pale and sweaty. Even though he is still wearing the same kind of suit I can tell he lost weight. No one has been telling him to eat. I have to bite my tongue not to ask questions. But I have so many…. What happened tonight? Who did this? Why? Where you alone? Could I have prevented this?

And that's just the questions about last night! A million more questions about his "death" and about the last two years….

In an attempt to avoid asking them I turn on my doctor-mode:

'Do you feel sick?'

'No.'

'Dizzy?'

'Only a bit?'

'Did you take any drugs?' ' I ask while putting my hand on his forehead. He is hot, almost feverish.

Sherlock opens his eyes and gives me an insulted look while my hand is still on his head. Arrogant bastard! I will not back down. 'Did you?'

He closed his eyes again. 'No.'

I remove my hand. 'When did you last eat?'

'Irrelevant.'

'I cannot give you painkillers on an empty stomach.'

He squints at me. 'I ate two hours ago.'

Sure you did, lair. 'What did you eat?'

'A sandwich.'

'With what?'

A deep sigh. He is annoyed. Good.

'Sherlock, I will not give you painkillers when you haven't eaten anything. It will only upset your stomach and make you throw up, which might rupture your stitches.'

'Fine.' He tries to get up but I put my hands on his shoulders to stop him. 'What are you doing?'

'Getting something to eat, doctor.' He says the last word in his usual condescending tone, but in his eyes, staring in mine, I see something else… Is he amused? Or just mocking me? And why is his face so close to mine?

I gently push him away from me, back into the couch. 'Stay there. I will get you some food.' I get up and walk towards the kitchen. 'Do you have anything here?'

I open some cabinets but there is nothing. I doesn't look like he has been living here.

'John?' I hear behind me.

'What?' I ask without looking. I found a muesli-bar and a jar of corn.

'Maybe we should talk first?'

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I'm thinking of writing the next chapter from Sherlock's POV. What do you think?


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you all for the nice reviews! I really appreciate it!

Enjoy the next chapter!

I own nothing.

**Chapter 6.**

'Maybe we should talk first?'

John turns around at my words. He looks stupid with that confused look in his eyes and a muesli-bar in one hand and a jar of corn in the other. He doesn't understand me. Of course not. He can't grasp the bigger picture of the situation. And that's probably better for now.

He is ordinary. He is average. And yet, for some reason, I felt so much better when the doctor came in. How he immediately kneeled by me and attended to my wounds. How his worry made him forget his anger because his simple mind cannot balance the two emotions at the same time. I can tell he hurried here because he is wearing the same jumper as earlier today and he is not wearing any socks. He came because he cares. Again, proof that caring is not an advantage. And yet, I need John's care. I need my blogger.

John is still staring at me. I clear my throat.

'I know you have questions.'

He slowly puts the corn down without breaking his stare. 'You didn't have time for answers before.'

'No, I didn't, but now that hardly matters anymore.' I glance at my wound. I know that that is enough to play on the feelings of guilt he undoubtedly has. From the way he looks to the floor I know I am right. Oh my dear John, you are still so obvious, so easy to influence.

'Sherlock…' there it comes… 'I am sorry I didn't go with you, but you clearly have no idea what it was like for me to see you at the hospital. Alive. Acting like you just came back early from a vacation or something….' He speaks quietly, but from the way he waves the muesli-bar around I can tell he holds in his anger.

'John…' I try to sit up again. My wound hurts, but it is not that bad. However, my pained face is, again, enough to make John's _care _win it from his anger.

'No, don't sit up.' He steps towards me and points with the muesli-bar. 'Let me turn on some light.'

'No.' I gasp. 'No, light. I might be watched.'

John frowns. 'Watched? By who?' He walks to the window and glances carefully outside.

'Do you see anyone?' I ask.

'No.'

No? That can't be true. 'Moran has to be there…' I say to myself.

'Wait.' John says. 'There is someone in the a car at the corner. I remember that same car was there when I got here.' He looks at me. 'Who is Moran?'

I am not listing.

'I knew it.' I hiss. 'Perfect. This will go exactly as I planned.'

'Planned?' John repeats. He doesn't understand. I cannot keep explaining everything to him. We have to act quickly. With one hand to my side I push myself up from the couch.

'Hurry John, place that chair in from the window!'

'What? Which chair?'

'There is no time to be dense, John.' I make my way to the door while I gesture at him. 'Place that chair with that dummy in front of the window. You will leave through the front door and Moran will think I am sitting here, injured and alone. I will go through the kitchen and leave through the backdoor.'

My wound hurts but it is by far not as serious as Moran – and John – think it is. Exactly as I planned: the wound is bad enough for Moran to believe I am unable to move, but John has fixed it like I expected.

I hear John curse behind me. 'What the hell is going on, Sherlock? You can't walk!'

I grab the door handle. 'I'm fine.' I wave this unimportant detail away. 'I took painkillers already.'

'What?!' John almost yells. Can't he be quiet? I tell him, but that makes it worse for some reason. He is now yelling at me. I am not listening. We have to leave.

'John, shut up and make yourself useful. Place the chair in front of the window and then leave.'

John takes a deep breath. At least he stopped screaming. Why is he still standing there? I need his help. My instructions are clear and easy, even for him.

Then he walks past me and goes down the stairs. He forgot the dummy! 'John, you have to place the chair with the dummy. I cannot do it!'

He turns around, halfway on the stairs. His eyes are flaming. 'Why not?' He spits the words at me. 'You said you were fine anyway.'

Why is he angry? 'Stop complaining about details, John. I need your help.'

John laughs sarcastically. 'No you don't.' He turns and goes further down the stairs. What is he doing? I need him. 'John? Stop. Come back!'

He doesn't stop.

'Why?' he yells over his shoulder. 'I thought alone protects you.'

I frown. How can he be able to remember something I said years ago but not be able to follow my simple instructions?

I hear the door slam. John is gone. I turn and carefully lay down on the floor. I crawl to the chair and drag it to the window. The wound in my sides hurts more with every move. Damn John. I crawl back to the door and pray my trick will work.

Was this house also so cold and dark when John was still here?

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	7. Chapter 7

I don't own anything.

Enjoy the next chapter!

**Chapter 7.**

_Mycroft's POV._

I stretch behind my computer and reach for my tea. Oh brother, dear, you are handling this all wrong. If I was capable of the emotion I am sure I would feel sorry for John.

I sip from my tea while I watch the good doctor run out the door and slam it close behind him. On the screen next to it I see Sherlock in the living room. And he is not alone…. His wound must have impaired his judgment because even for me it was clear from the beginning Moran would never fall for this _obvious _dummy-contraption.

Colonel Moran kicks in the door and I see Sherlock reach for a weapon but Moran shoots first. Not to kill. Not yet. Part of the window shatters and Sherlock ducks under the rain of glass.

'Sherlock Holmes. We are alone at last…' Moran's voice is slightly distorted but I can hear the pleasure of revenge in the way he says my brother's name.

'Full screen on that one, sir?' Anthea asks while standing nervously behind me.

'Not yet.' I motion without taking my eyes of the screen. I don't have to wait long. In the screen of the front door appears – how predictable – doctor John Watson. He heard the gunshot and can't resist to come to his friend's aid. Oh John, you really can't leave the battlefield behind you, can you?

John quietly climbs the stairs, gun firmly in his hand, through total darkness. A true soldier, that man. And a true idiot.

Sherlock cannot speak. The wound is more painful than you anticipated, isn't it, little brother. Colonel Moran is taking his time, walking slowly towards Sherlock. 'I will enjoy this! After all this time of you chasing me we are finally face to face. And I will finally kill you.'

Sherlock opens his mouth, probably to give one of his clever and demeaning replies, but Moran stops him. 'No. Don't speak. No one cares for your last words.' He points the gun at Sherlock. Anthea gasps behind me. 'Sir?'

But I motion her to be quiet.

Moran smiles at Sherlock. 'Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes.'

There is a gunshot. Sherlock shocks, but Moran falls to his knees, and then face down on the floor. Blood is coming from a wound in his back. John appears in the door opening behind him. His gun in his hand. He shot from the hallway. Probably while standing halfway on the stairs. Not really a difficult shot for a marksman, but he saved my brothers' life. Again. Just as I anticipated.

I see how he kneels next to Moran's body while asking Sherlock 'Are you okay?'

Sherlock's voice is calmer and more steady than I know he feels. 'Fine.'

'He is dead.' John concludes about Moran.

'Obviously.' I think it and Sherlock says it.

John steps over the body and sits next to Sherlock on the floor. I watch them sitting in silence for a few minutes. Anthea has disappeared. Why? To give them privacy? This is why that girl will never go far in this business. I listen when my brother and the doctor speak again. Sherlock goes first.

'Thank you, John.'

He expresses his gratitude. Sincerely. How unexpected. I must get John to tell me how he can make Sherlock do that.

'You're welcome Sherlock. But can you please tell me who this man is that I just killed and what the hell happened to you these last years?'

'Where do you want me to start?'

'How about the roof of the hospital. You and Moriarty. Start there.'

I get up to get more tea while Sherlock tells the long and frankly rather boring story of how he faked his death and chased Colonel Moran after killing the two other hit men.

When I get back with tea and cookies (no sugar, no fat, no calories. Anthea _is_ good at some things.) Sherlock just finished. Then come John's questions.

How tedious.

I check my messages and call back the prime minister while the two men talk.

John tells Sherlock about his new job and other insignificant trivia of his daily life. He asks Sherlock what he will do now.

'Will you move in here again?' John asks.

'I might.' Sherlock answers. 'In fact I probably will. Want to join me?'

John looks around. 'I would but there is a dead man in the living room, no food in the kitchen and, frankly, a terrible draft through that gunshot in the window.'

The look at each other and then burst in a giggle.

Honestly little brother, aren't you too old and too injured to giggle like that? I am embarrassed to be related to you. I rub between my eyes while I wait for the irritating sound of the doctors' laugh to fade away. When it finally does there is silence again. Neither men makes a move to leave.

'I am married now Sherlock.' John says softly. Is that _guilt _I hear in his voice?

'I know, John.' Sherlock's voice is a whisper barely loud enough for the microphone to pick up.

'Her name is Mary.' Why is John speaking to the floor? 'She is lovely. You should meet her. Maybe you can join us for dinner some time?'

The pleading way John looks at Sherlock can be best described as puppy-eyes. That is painful. I feel like I just got another cavity from looking at it.

Surely Sherlock will want to leave now. He swallows and clears his throat.

'That would be nice, John, thank you.'

Oh little brother, what is going on? Is it not enough that the ex-army doctor has reduced you to a giggling schoolgirl over a dead body? But now you are also unable to turn down an invitation for what will obviously be a terribly uncomfortable dinner with a newlywed couple who haven't had sex in over a month? Dear God, you are behaving like a 20-year old girl who spotted an opportunity to reunite with her high school crush. Have I taught you nothing?

'I should go home.' John stumbled while trying to get up. 'Mary will be worried.'

'Okay. Good night John.'

John turns in the doorway. Hesitant. I can tell he wants to say something else but he decides to leave it at: 'Bye Sherlock.'

And he is gone. Leaving Sherlock behind in the dark, drafty room with the dead body of Colonel Moran.

Behind me I can hear Anthea has come in and she inhales before saying something about removing both Sherlock and the dead man from Baker Street.

'It can wait until tomorrow.' I say while getting up. She is no longer surprised when I answer her unspoken questions.

'Good night Anthea.'

'Good night, sir.'

Thank you so much for reading! I would love to read your thoughts about it! So please review!


	8. Chapter 8

Hi all! Sorry for my very long absence….

The new trailer got me in the Sherlock-mood again :) I hope you are still interested…

The usual. I own nothing and make no profit.

**Chapter 8**

_Mary's point of view._

I glance out the window for the twentieth time tonight. Nothing. The street is dark and empty. Oh God. Should I call the police? Should I go out and look for him? My mind is spinning with worries while I call his cell phone. Again. It is still on voice mail. I leave another message. I am not even trying to suppress the panic in my voice: 'John, where the hell are you? Call me as soon as you hear this. I am freaking out and I will call the police if I haven't heard from you in ten minutes!' I yell in the phone. I know I'll feel guilty about yelling like that if something did happened to him…. but somewhere in the back of my mind a little nagging voice tells me I know where John is... I am at a point where I would call this Sherlock Holmes character myself and make him tell me where John is – no matter how rude and insulting John says he is - but I don't have his number. So all I can do is wait. And wait. And wait. I glance out the window again.

Twenty terrible minutes pass before I decide I have waited long enough; I will call the police. Which number do I use though? Emergency? No, maybe not. But is there another number I can use at this hour in the night? Damn it all, I will just call 999.

As I am pressing in the first 9 I hear the front door opening. Really quietly. John is so used to doing that. Making sure not to wake me when he comes home from a long shift. I drop the phone and ran to the door.

'JOHN!' As soon as I see my husband in the hallway relieve washes over me. Thank God. I throw my arms around him and burry my face in his neck. He hugs me and softly rubs my back.

'It's okay Mary.' He whispers. 'I'm okay.'

The relieved feeling is settling down and my anger flairs up. I pull away to look at him, trying to control the tears in my eyes.

'Where the HELL have you been, John Watson? Do you have any idea how worried I was? How panicked? How close I came to calling bloody 999?'

'Mary…' John begins while looking awkwardly at the floor.

'No, John, I am not finished!' I yell. 'How dare you disappear without so much as a note to tell me where you are? And to turn off your phone? I must have left about a dozen messages since I got home two hours ago and found you missing.'

'Darling, I am so sorry.' His eyes look pleading, but I am still filled with anger.

'Where were you, John?'

'I…. there was an emergency…'

'At the hospital?'

'No….. I needed to help a friend.'

'…A friend…?'

John takes a deep breath. 'Sherlock texted me that he was injured.'

'Oh no John…' I sigh and close my eyes.

John continues while walking passed me into the living room. 'I went to help him. He really was injured and someone was after him . But we had a fight and I wanted to leave but then I heard a gunshot so I went back to help him. I had a crazy night. Old fashion crazy.'

I am not listening. Still standing in the hallway with my eyes closed. John must have noticed because he is suddenly next to me again. His warm, soft hand on my cheek.

'Darling..?' He whispers. 'He really was injured. He needed me. I could not just say no and leave him to his faith. Could I?' I open my eyes and see John's eyes lingering into mine. Waiting for me to answer the inevitable: 'No of course not dear.'

'I'll make you some tea.' John turns to go into the kitchen.

I take slow, deep breaths. Bloody Sherlock Holmes. Why did he have to come back? Why? When I got to know John I realized how important Sherlock had been to him. How important he still was. How John had left everything, risked everything, to be at his side. John had told me how difficult it was to keep a relationship with Sherlock around. Often I had wondered if John and I could have made it work if is best friend was still alive... If they were still living together... I never dared to ask John because I was afraid of his answer. He would have told me nothing would have been different between us because he really loved me and he never really loved those other girls Sherlock scared off. But I can tell when John is lying…. So I never asked.

John has been so perfect to me. My brave, loyal, dependable soldier. No man has ever treated me as good as John. He never forgets my birthday, or our anniversary, or any detail of our first date. He does the shopping and cleans the house. He brings me flowers with an 'I love you' card, spontaneously, no need for an occasion.

And he always, always, leaves a note when he goes out. Until tonight.

Let me know what you think! I really like your comments and thoughts! Thanks!


	9. Chapter 9

Hi there! Another chapter! Please read and review!

I don't own or make profit.

**Chapter 9.**

We are lying in bed. She is not moving or talking, but I know she's not asleep. I don't say anything either. What is there to say? How can I explain myself. I feel more stupid about the whole thing by the minute.

I've disappointed her. I know I have. My sweet, understanding wife couldn't hide her disappointment when she realized I run to Sherlock as soon as he calls for me. She had told me not to. She had reminded me of the mess he left me with and how difficult it had been to get back on track. She had reminded me how careless and emotionless he was and that I was better off without him. She was right. Of course. And yet I couldn't stop myself from running to him as soon as he asked me to. Despite everything. He could just use me and treat me miserably and still I would disappoint my wife just for him. God, how pathetic. I feel like such a loser right now.

As I toss and turn I decide: I will no longer let Sherlock Holmes control my life like this. So he's alive and back, but that does not mean everything will go back to the way it was. I will tell him that we can be friends, but that I cannot come running every time he needs me. I _will_ let Mary go before anyone and everything.

Having decided this makes me feel a bit better, but at the same time it feels like a stone on my chest, in my stomach, on my shoulders, weighing me down.

I didn't sleep well. Neither did Mary. We are sitting at the breakfast table, both with a piece of the paper in front of us, drinking coffee. Usually we have tea in the morning, but now we are both tired and in need of some caffeine to get through the day.

The phone rings.

I get up but Mary is faster.

'Mary Watson.' … 'Yes he is here.' ….. 'Who is this?' …. 'Ah.. Okay…'

She turned to me and hands me the phone. 'It's for you.'

I want to ask her who it is, but she immediately turns away and walks into the kitchen. She looks a little upset. That can only mean one thing…. 'John Watson.'

_'Where is the skull?' _

I knew it.

'What do you mean, Sherlock? What skull?'

_'THE skull. The skull I brought to Baker Street when we first moved in. Where you always so slow in the morning?' _I can hear he is moving around while talking into the phone as if I am sitting in the same room with him. I sigh.

'I don't know where it is. Maybe Mrs. Hudson took it?'

_'Don't be ridiculous John. She hated that thing.'_

'Maybe she threw it away?'

_'Not funny John.'_

I hear Mary starting with the dishes in the kitchen. 'Look, what do you want Sherlock?'

_'Just want to know when you get here.'_

'When I get where?'

_'To Baker Street of course. Lestrade texted me he might have a case for us.'_

'Sherlock, I won't come to Baker Street…'

_'Fine, we'll meet at Scotland Yard but if you are late I will not –' _

I cut him off: 'No, I mean we're not partners anymore. I am not going to work on a case with you, Sherlock. And neither should you. You should give that injury some time to heal.'

_'What? What do you mean?' _

I know what he is asking but I take the easier way out: 'Just take some rest. You were seriously injured yesterday.'

_'Don't pretend to be dense, John. What do you mean about not being partners anymore?'_

He stopped moving around and now has his attention to the conversation. I hear disappointment in his voice. Bloody hell, this is more difficult than I thought it would be.

'I have a life, Sherlock. A job, I'm married, I cannot run all over London with you anymore.'

I no longer hear Mary washing the dishes. She is listening to the conversation.

_'Your wife told you that?' _

I can almost see how Sherlock spits those first two words into his phone.

_'I always knew you were not the most strong-minded person-'_

'Shut up, Sherlock.'

_'-but to have her dominate your life like this….' _His voice was dripping with contempt.

'This is MY decision.' Why am I defending myself?

_'Ow please' _He scorns. _'You know you need this, John. You cannot stand the daily grind of a simple married life.'_

'Stop it.'

_'Even you will eventually be too bored to stand it. And then you come looking for me.'_

'No I won't.' I try to sound careless.

_'Fine. I will get another assistant then.'_

'Wonderful. I am hanging up now.'

_'Admit it John, you need this life. You need the thrill of the chase. You need me.'_

'Bye Sherlock.'

I hang up. My hands are slightly shaking. The house is completely quiet for a few seconds, and then Mary continues with the dishes. We don't say anything to each other about the phone call, but when she picks up my empty coffee cup she kisses my head.

I made her happy.

I broke with Sherlock.

I lost the weight of telling him this.

He will get another assistant.

I feel totally empty.

Please give me your opinion. I really would like to know if you think this story is worth continuing! Many thanks!


	10. Chapter 10

Thanks for the reviews :) Please continue to give your opinion! Many thanks!

**Chapter 10.**

Mary left for work twenty minutes ago. I will have a late shift at the hospital, but I can't just sit at home today. I feel restless. An hour before the start of my shift I leave. If I walk to work I will only be 15 minutes early. That's acceptable, right?

After I have closed the front door behind me I see him. He is leaning casually against the wall. His long dark coat is open en moves softly in the wind. He is looking at me. I feel like banging my head against the door.

'Shouldn't you be out looking for a new assistant?' I ask while walking passed him.

He shrugs. 'Too much effort. All the time I invested in you… I don't want to go through that again.'

'Ha. Ha.' I say sarcastically and continue walking. Sherlock is right behind me.

'Stop this childishness John.'

'Just go away Sherlock.'

'I don't know what your problem is but honestly I think you're being very ungrateful.'

I stop. _Ungrateful?! _I take a deep breath. 'Ungrateful?' I hiss.

'Yes.' Sherlock says in his usual nonchalant tone. 'You should be thanking me.'

I turn to face him. 'For what?'

'I jumped of a building to save your life, _doctor.' _His voice is still calm. He is so sure of himself. Arrogant bastard. I want to stay calm. I want to just walk away. But I can't.

'No, you jumped off a building because you needed to win the game from Moriarty. Because you wanted to outsmart him and call of the hit men.'

'The hit men who would have killed you.'

'You didn't need to do that with me watching though, did you?!' I spit the words at him. 'You didn't need to tell me lies and destroy everything in the seconds before you flung yourself off that rooftop, now did you?'

Sherlock waives it away. 'I knew you wouldn't believe what I said.'

'Do you have any idea what I have been through these last years, Sherlock? Do you have any idea how I felt? How guilty-' I stop myself. I don't want to go there. But it's too late.

Sherlock frowns. 'What do you mean _guilty_? Oh please don't tell me you have wallowing in guilt and self-pity about my death, John. Why? That's just so tedious.'

Of course he does this. I should have kept my mouth shot. This is my own fault. Again. I shake my head and while I turn away I tell him: 'Of course it makes no sense to you Sherlock. It involves _feelings_ and you don't have those.'

'John…'

'You don't understand me. I don't understand you. Why were we ever working together?'

'I thought we were friends.' Sherlock says in a matter-of-fact tone. I snap. That does it. Friends? _Friends?_

'You know what, Sherlock Holmes? You were are lousy friend. You still are.' I try to keep my voice calm to hide my anger but I don't think it is working. 'You threw yourself off a building in front of me as part of your plan. You didn't think for a second what it would do to me to see that. I didn't _have _to see that. You could have called me while I was inside. Hell, you didn't have to call me at all. You just wanted to do it that way because it was more dramatic. Your doctor, your side kick, the idiot who called you his _friend_ standing down there, yelling your name, feeling your pulse to find out you were really dead.' I take a step back to look at him. He looks confused. 'Well bravo Sherlock.' I say sarcastically while I spread my arms. 'You did it. You had me convinced you killed yourself because we would all find out you were a fraud. That you thought there was nothing left for you after that. That you thought I wouldn't be your friend anymore if you weren't a genius. That you thought I wouldn't-'

I swallow the last words. Damn it. I had gone too far again. I was telling him things I had never told anyone. Feelings I had never let anyone know. Not even Mary. Not even Ella. And here I stood. Spilling my guts to the one man who would have absolutely no problem making me feel totally ridiculous because of it. I had to get out of here.

I turn and walk away while Sherlock still stands in the middle of the street. Looking confused and lost for words. That's a first.

I am almost at the end of the street when I hear him behind me.

'That's not what you said at my grave.'

I stop. For a second I contemplate turning around and yelling at him for being at his own funeral. But fortunately I learn from my mistakes. I clench my teeth together and continue walking.

Thanks for reading. It's short, I know, but more will follow soon!


	11. Chapter 11

Next chapter: Lestrade! Please read and review!

I don't own or make profit!

**Chapter 11.**

'Can we do this later? I'm busy, Sherlock.' I pick up the pile of cases from my desk. Donovan was supposed to do some paperwork yesterday. Where the hell is she?

'You need help, as usual.'

'And you want to help me?'

'Obviously.'

'This is Scotland Yard. We are fine without you, Sherlock.' I say while I make my way to Donovan's desk.

'Really? You have five, no six, open cases at the moment. You haven't finished the paperwork of the last case you closed. You didn't have time to eat anything which might explain why you are being so grumpy, and two members of your team are home with the flu and you are about to get sick yourself.'

'Sherlock…'

'Which will be very inconvenient since your wife is still sleeping with the PA teacher so she will not be home to take care of you.'

I give up. The annoying bastard will not go away unless I tell him the real reason he cannot work with us. I dump the pile of papers on Donovan's desk and look at the detective.

'Sherlock, I cannot let you help us even if I wanted to…'

He frowns at me. 'And why is that, Inspector?'

'Because of the shitload of trouble I got into last time.'

'And whose fault was that? You are punishing me because _you _doubted me? Wrongfully so, I might add.'

'It's not just that.'

'Then what?'

'I can't work with you Sherlock. Not when it is just you.'

'What is that supposed to mean?' He looks like he knows already what I am going to say.

'It means that without _John_ you are a lose canon. You go off on your own. You get in trouble. You get _me _in trouble. You might solve the case –'

'_might?!'_

'Fine, you _will_ solve the case but the mess you leave me with is just not worth it, Sherlock.' I try to get away from him by returning to my office, but of course he is right behind me.

'And what does John have to do with that?'

'Oh I remember what it was like working with you before John, and I will not go through that again!' I stop at the coffee machine. Sherlock glares at me.

'I behave exactly the same, with or without John.'

'Ha, no you don't. Coffee?' He ignores me.

'This is ridiculous, Lestrade. Tell me, how does the good doctor influences by behavior?'

'I don't have time for this Sherlock. Go home.'

He smirks. His usual, loathing, arrogant smirk. God, I didn't miss _that_. 'John has nothing to do with this, does he? You just don't want to admit how wrong you were by letting me get back to work. You don't want me to solve cases.'

We are back in my office and I put my coffee on my desk. 'Sherlock sit.'

He looks at me as if I am up to something.

'Please sit Sherlock.' I gesture while I sink into my own desk chair. He sits down, uncomfortably, and shuts up, finally.

I lean back in my chair. 'First of all, I never let my personal pride get in the way of solving crimes. I would never deny you working with us just because of some grudge I hold against you. God knows I would have stopped working with you after day one if that was the case. For you it is just about the thrill of the chase but for me these are peoples' lives, so don't ever accuse me of that again!'

He wants to say something but I continue. 'Secondly, this _is_ about John. You obviously don't want to hear it but you need him in order to be at all bearable to work with. He grounds you, keeps you from becoming too rude or arrogant. At least he tries. He limits your crazy and dangerous impulses and he brings out your human side.'

Sherlock stares at me. As usual I cannot tell the impact of my words.

'Plus..' I take a deep breath, 'with John around I didn't have to worry too much about you getting yourself or others killed, or making any other kind of mess I had to clean up later. I knew at least one of you would think rationally before doing something completely insane.'

We are silent for a few seconds. The detective sits in the chair opposite of me, seemingly deep in thoughts.

It is so strange to have him sitting here in my office again. A good thing and a bad thing at the same time. Of course I am glad he didn't die! I should have known he would never kill himself! But for him to be here, in my office, alone, practically begging me for work… that is not like him. At least not like he has been in recent years. When I just met him he was like this, a junkie, begging me to let him solve a case, needing the fix like a regular addict. And like every addict he was unreliable, impulsive and completely untrustworthy most of the time. It took him years to become completely clean and I wish I could tell you he became a more pleasant man to work with…. But he really didn't! It wasn't until doctor Watson started assisting him that I dared to really get him involved in cases, even when we were not completely out of our depths. Because of John I felt more comfortable about this whole consulting detective business he got going on, because I knew John would keep him out of any serious trouble, or at least inform me about it.

But now…. Now he is here. Alive. Asking me to let him work and I suddenly see that junkie again: alone and hungry for a fix that will make him forget everything else.

Sherlock suddenly speaks: 'So basically you are saying I need an assistant.'

'Just talk to John and…'

'John is being childish and stubborn.'

'Hmm I wonder where he picked that up…' I hint, but the detective ignores me.

'So I will have to find someone else to do what he did.'

Usually, people are more or less replaceable for Sherlock - I am pretty sure he has no real attachment to me either – but to hear him talk like that about John….

'Sherlock, you can't just replace John.'

'Why not?' The detective gets up. I open my mouth to explain it to him, but then I remember the six open cases and all the paperwork… and I just shrug. He will find this out on his own. 'Do whatever you want Sherlock. Come back when you've managed to find someone willing and able to work with you.'

'I will. Have a good day Inspector.' Sherlock says on his way out.

'Bye.' But all I see is his dark coat rushing through the doorway.

I sneeze.

_Oh great. _That is just _great._

Thank you for reading! As usual I love your thoughts/comments/reviews!


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12.**

_John's POV_

This is the third day it is quiet in the hospital. What happened to all the emergencies? It seems like when I need to have patients to distract me they are all suddenly perfectly healthy and not in need of a doctor.

Great.

It is 11 a.m. and I am in my office updating charts and writing some reports, but my thoughts are wandering. I haven't heard from Sherlock in over a week. Not very strange since I made it clear I won't work with him anymore, but still… the silence is eerie. Like something big and unpleasant is about to happened….

Three days ago I treated a woman who came to the clinic with anxiety issues. She said her regular physician had prescribed her medications, but she didn't want to take them anymore because they made her mind 'fuzzy'. It was quiet so I could take some time to talk to her and she told me her anxiety was due to the fact that her 21-years old granddaughter, Tara, had gone missing about three weeks ago. The girls' parents are dead and she has always been very close to her grandmother. The police refused to look into her disappearance because the grandmother has been receiving postcards from Tara saying she was in Spain with friends, but the lady is certain that the cards are not actually from Tara. I tried to tell her that it is not unusual for a 21 years old girl to take a sudden trip with friends without telling her grandmother, but the lady kept insisting there was something really wrong, that she could tell from little things that this wasn't really her granddaughter writing to her… When she told me she wanted to get a private detective, but she didn't know how to go about finding one, I said: 'I can recommend someone.' Totally without thinking, of course.

'Really?' she seemed relieved. 'Who? Oh I would much rather go to someone you recommend than to call a stranger from the phonebook.'

Of course then I had to give her Sherlock's contact information. I told her over and over that he is more than a bit eccentric and that I cannot guarantee he will take her case, but she was just grateful and relieved.

Ever since then I have been sort of expecting to hear from the detective… I know it is stupid since I yelled at him and walked out on him last time we saw each other. But still... I have been restless and unsure if I _want _him to contact me…? On the one hand I really don't miss his arrogance and ungratefulness, and the way he made me run after him like an idiot, while I was guessing what was going on! But on the other hand, I cannot deny that the thought of having that old life back - … the thrill of the chase… every day an adventure… some insides in the brilliant mind of Sherlock Holmes…- gives me a feeling like electricity running through my body and makes my hands itch to get back on a case.

But of course that would upset Mary, and that is the last thing I want to do!

'You seriously get _paid _to sit here and stare at some paperwork?'

_Sherlock's POV_

He looks up. Surprised, and somewhat…. guilty? What was he thinking about? I can tell the doctor is trying to hide that he is happy to see me. Why John? Are you really that angry? I decide to ignore it. These sort of emotions are vague and tricky to me. I rather step over it and get to the point: the work.

'You referred a case to me.'

'Ehh.. yes..'

'It wasn't a question, John.' I wonder around in the room. Books, medical equipment, a picture of him and Mary on what I assume was their wedding day. John looks happy….

'What do you want, Sherlock?'

His voice sounds less agitated than last time we spoke. He is regretting his anger. Of course. Simple, good natured John.

'We should discuss this case you send to me.' I sink into one of the chairs across Johns' desk.

The doctor looks a little uneasy, but still, he doesn't want me to leave.

'What do you want to know? The lady needed a detective and I know you want to start your work again, so why not refer her?'

I try to stare into his eyes, read his thoughts, but he seems to avoid my look. 'I thought you were angry at me.'

Now he is really avoiding me. 'I am not angry at you, Sherlock. I just …. don't want to work with you anymore.'

'So we are still friends?' I ask these questions solely to watch John squirm his way through the answers. His reactions do sometimes still surprise me, and not many other things can do that. It is amusing. Nothing more. Of course.

'I would like to stay friends Sherlock, but Mary…'

'She tells you you can't?'

'No, of course not. She wouldn't do that! But I can tell she doesn't like you.'

'She's never _met_ me!' This is insulting! Just because this woman is perpetually insecure I do not get to spend time with John?! He must have been really in need of a clingy companion when he met her, because she would never have been able to get him wrapped around her finger like this if I had still been living with him.

I open my mouth to inform John of this conclusion, but I decide against it when I suddenly notice something else in his demeanor… He is not just squirming and trying to hide he's glad to see me, he is also.. hurt..? Humiliated…? I cannot place it, but I am determined to get to the bottom of this. It might be difficult since I never bothered to dissect human emotions like this before, but the knowledge can help me convince John to become my assistant again.

'Hmm' I clear my throat. 'So how about that dinner then?'

'What?' He looks confused.

'You invited me for dinner with you and her a while ago, remember?'

'You want to have dinner with me and Mary?' I ignore his skeptic tone.

'Yes.'

'After I just told you she doesn't like you?'

'Yes.'

'You are serious?'

'Yes, John, do keep up.' This is getting tiresome.

He suddenly squints at me. 'What are you up to, Sherlock?'

I frown at him. 'You invited me, didn't you?'

'Yes, I did.'

'And now you're telling me your wife is against our friendship because she doesn't have a good opinion of me.'

'Yes, but…'

'So I should be given a chance to rectify the situation.'

'Maybe, but…'

'Dinner would a good opportunity to do that, don't you think?'

I can almost see his inner struggle. He feels like he can't say yes because he knows his wife will not be happy about it. But at the same time he can't say no because my consecutive points have completely cornered him.

I smile.

Then the doctor glances at me. 'Okay, but if you insult her or upset her in any way Sherlock…'

I grimace. 'You have no faith in me, John.'

'Obviously.'

He said that last – familiar - word without thinking, but it breaks the hostility and he smiles.

Finally.

I get up. 'That's settled then, I will come for dinner. Let me know if tonight is convenient.'

'Sherlock…'

'Don't be alarmed John, I promise I will be on my best behavior.'

I leave his office. That went well. Very well.

Thanks for reading! Please leave a review!


	13. Chapter 13

Thank you all for the reviews and comments so far! Please keep them coming!

**Chapter 13.**

The dinner…. _THE _dinner.

_Mary's POV_

Unbelievable. How did I let John talk me into this? First I agree – God only knows why – to have Sherlock Holmes coming over to our house for dinner, and then I am also persuaded to make this arrogant prick my famous lasagna?! How? How did John do that? I even had to go to the neighbor to barrow a bigger lasagna tray (which she reluctantly gave me after I promised to get it back to her tonight, crazy lady).

I am standing in the kitchen cutting tomatoes while John is preparing the minced meat on the kitchen table. He is nervous. I can tell because he is quiet and his eyes have this serious and worried look. I know he feels bad about getting tricked into this dinner…

Despite the fact that I am absolutely not looking forward to the detective coming over, I must admit that I am curious. John has told me so much about him and I also did my share of reading. I know he will be rude, impolite and probably he won't eat much of the lasagna. I also know he will take one look at me and tell John all my secrets and insecurities, but I am pretty sure John already knows all of them so I'm not that afraid.

Half an hour later at 19.30 sharp, after the lasagna has been in the oven for 20 minutes, the doorbell rings. That must be our guest. Very timely. John gets up to open the door and I nervously run my hands through my hair. _Stop it!_ I tell myself. _This is YOUR house and he is just a guest. He should make an effort for YOU._ I take a deep breath as I hear a baritone voice coming from the hall way. John opens the door.

'Darling, meet Sherlock Holmes.'

_John's POV_

Sherlock shakes her hand and smiles at her. It's a fake smile. I recognize it.

'Mary, it's a pleasure to meet you. I heard so much about you.'

'I heard quite a lot about you too, Sherlock.'

He squints at her for a second. Now he is deducing. I recognize that too.

'I know. But fortunately for me you don't believe everything you hear and you are determined to make up your own mind.'

'We'll have to wait and see how fortunate that is for you, don't we?'

Sherlock looks surprised.

Ha. Zero-one for my wife. I smile.

'Let's sit down shall we?' I gesture to the living room. 'I will get us some drinks. Mary, white wine? Sherlock, what do you want?

'White wine will be fine, John.' Sherlock says without taking his eyes off Mary. He is studying her. She stares back. Fearless. I love that woman.

'So, how long did you live in France, Mary?'

I hear Sherlock show off while I pour the wine in the kitchen.

'About a year.' She answers. 'And yourself?'

The evening is going remarkably well. Sherlock is himself: straight forward, deducing everything, but at the same time I notice he is making an effort to be polite to Mary, laughing at her jokes and complimenting the lasagna.

'It's really very good. John has a lot to learn from you.'

'What is that supposed to mean?' I say laughing.

'Well John, let's face it: I never ate right while we were living together.'

'Oh, and that was due to _my _cooking?!'

He smirks. 'Of course. Remember the unfortunate incident with the risotto?'

'My risotto was fine!'

'It gave us both food poisoning!'

'No, that was because you used it for an experiment!'

He pretends to have forgotten: 'Did I? I don't think so! And if I did it must have been because it wasn't really good to begin with.'

'Yeah, like that's the reason you experimented with our food.'

We smile at each other.

'You experimented with food?' Mary asks. 'That doesn't sound very safe.'

'It was deadly.' I say at the same time as Sherlock says: 'Safe is boring.'

Sherlock starts talking about some experiments he did and Mary is clearly shocked and slightly impressed. 'Well, from the way that sounds I am surprised you are still alive.'

'We all were.' I mutter under my breath. I am sure Sherlock heard me but he ignores it.

'That's John's fault.' He says while wiping his mouth on a napkin. 'He sabotaged my experiments more than once.'

'Ha, I think you mean I saved your life more than once.'

He looks up, our eyes meet. 'Yes, that too.' He says.

Suddenly I feel uncomfortable and I quickly focus on the food. 'Who wants more lasagna?'

After the meal Mary insists on washing up the lasagna tray and returning it to the neighbors tonight, and Sherlock, to my great surprise, offers to help with the dishes. We end up over the kitchen sink, I'm washing, he's drying. He looks relaxed with the sleeves of his fancy shirt rolled up and the top buttons undone.

The atmosphere is good, familiar, almost like the old days, although my comfortable feeling might also be due to the three glasses of wine I had…

'You surprised me tonight Sherlock!' I say when Mary leaves to return the tray to the neighbors.

'I should think so! You don't know me as well as you think you do, doctor.' He grins, but I continue. 'Well, maybe not but I am grateful for how polite you were to Mary all night.'

He shrugs and takes up a plate to dry it. 'She's okay.'

'Either way.' I pull a glass out of the sink and rinse it, 'I am impressed.'

'Good.' Sherlock says. 'That was the point.'

I smile in surprise and turn to hand him the glass. He reaches for it. Our fingers touch. I am suddenly very aware of how close he is. When I look up I see him gazing at me intensely. Neither of us breaks the stare. I forget to breath. Alarm bells are ringing and red lights go up in the back of my mind but they are suppressed by something else. Something overwhelming. Why is he not turning away? Why am _I_ not turning away?

The sound of the front door opening breaks the moment and we bolt away from each other. Mary walks into the kitchen, complaining about the neighbor, and Sherlock turns to listen to her. As their voices disappear into the living room I lean on the kitchen counter with both hands, trying to control my breathing.

_What the bloody hell was that?_

Thank God Sherlock decides to leave not long after… after what? That _moment_ in the kitchen? While I finish up the dishes I tell myself to calm down. Nothing happened. Really nothing. So time froze for a few seconds while we.. _looked_ at each other? It's absolutely nothing. And Sherlock didn't behave any different the last half hour of the night. I probably imagined it… So he stared? And so I stared back? It's nothing. It has to be.

_Sherlock's POV_

Blank.

Blank.

Blank.

I force my mind to stay blank.

Sometimes, to suppress certain _feelings,_ I have to suppress everything just long enough to regain complete control of my emotions.

Deep breaths.

Only one thing to do….

Enter mind palace – enter room 'John' – select memory created today – delete memory.

Are you sure you want to delete this memory of John?

Yes.

Delete.

Delete. Delete. Delete.

Thanks for reading and please continue to let me know what you think! I'm writing this for you!


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